


Rule of Three

by Reallife, Sarsaparilla



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Sam Wilson, F/F, F/M, Growing Up, M/M, Maturing, Observant Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Birthday Big Bang, adoption is good 2k17, author is going to try and tie this into other fics you don't care about, author will not stop shoving her love of minor characters in your face, biexual clint barton, blink and you miss them pairings, friendship is good, intuitive sam wilson, kindness is good, meet cute, non powers au, sort of coffeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reallife/pseuds/Reallife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarsaparilla/pseuds/Sarsaparilla
Summary: Sam had always been heard that the third of something was always the most intense, positive or negative. So he knew the third time that he fell in love was going to be earth shattering either way. Naturally he tried to avoid it, and naturally, he will fail.Because Sam is all heart, and sadly he can't become alittlebesotted. Even worse, he's always known when it was going to happen, but it wasn't that useful because he never manages to avoid it still. What kind of sense does that make? None!





	Rule of Three

**Author's Note:**

> Art created by the incredibly talented [Sarsaparilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarsaparilla) for the [Sam Wilson Birthday Big Bang](https://samwilsonbirthdaybang.tumblr.com/) which was organized by some fantastically patient, kind and kickass people. Beta read by the kind CatrinaSL
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this, as it is different for me and my first time writing Sam as the main character. I really, really, really hope I didn't botch him up too badly. Or Helen.

Sam Wilson, like most people, has many flaws. Like a chronic dislike of hanging up his clothes, the inability to deal with sour food, lack of control over his smart mouth (or so he’s been told), and the tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve.

It’s the worst kept secret among the Wilson family that Sam falls in love too easily, and adopts people just as fast into his circle.

 _These are my people,_ says Sam, indignantly, when asked to leave his circle of friends for a new one the first time they moved. A stubborn child even at twelve, and too good a memory by far to be quoting movies he probably shouldn’t have seen yet.

Although maybe they aren’t flaws at all. Quirks perhaps, or dare we say it— _strengths_.

Except of course for not hanging up his clothes, which everyone keeps hoping he’ll grow out of but shows no sign of. Either way, these traits bring into Sam’s life his three Great Loves, a phrase he thinks with misty eyes or sighs depending on the year and mood in which he thinks them. 

**The one that came and went like a firecracker**

The summer between Junior and Senior year found Sam enlisting, the Air Force was taking people in at seventeen and he was eager to prove himself. Who he was trying to prove himself to was not a question; he had a ready answer for when his father asked him, but they still didn’t try and stop him. None of his friends were at the recruitment office with him, and that was alright—going at a challenge alone had never stopped a Wilson before.

His grandfather and uncles had talked about their military service like their first step into manhood, the beginning of forging their own path away from their parents. The military was where you found out who you really were, or so many had preached in his family.

Boot Camp didn’t really bring any great revelations to him, not that he would ever admit he was expecting them. It mostly brought a lot of sweat, some weight loss and the new found ability to jump out of bed and make it while still not quite opening his eyes.

Sam appreciated the structure and the reliability of those eight and a half weeks, a thing that surprised him since he had always loathed his mother’s assigned chore lists.

It didn’t surprise his family when he completed it, and it showed on their faces when they showed up for his graduation, glowing with pride at seeing him again after what seemed like such a long time.

There was just enough time left in the summer for him to head south again to visit his Aunt and cousins in Jersey. So different from San Antonio where he had spent eleven weeks. Dirtier, noisier and more crowded—but it gave him the sort of comfort and calm that only home can.

He was also just in time for the circus to be in town, a group and an event that completely spit in the face of his straight edge family and his rigidly scheduled summer.

Tiboldt's Circus was no Barnum & Bailey; he knew enough to identify some of the tattoos and scars on some of the performers and more than one smile shot his way could have been mistaken for a viper’s in human form. There was a woman in gold shimmering layered skirts that danced with a snake twined around her body in a ring of fire that mystified Sam and his cousins, oblivious to the heat around them.

...Though not _quite_ oblivious to the kid making his way through the crowds lightening pockets during the show. 

There was a man who threw knives at a woman contorted into ridiculous shapes, they stuck with loud _thuds_ into the painted board behind her and he seemed to delight in the gasps of the crowd as the blades land closer and closer to her skin.

The woman grinned at the crowd, but her eyes were distant and fuzzy like his great grandfather after they gave him his medicine.

“Holy shit look at that guy in purple on the horse!” Correcting Darryl’s language was at the tip of his tongue when he turned to see what he was talking about but the chastisement never came.  
How was he supposed to think coherently about anything, when the world had narrowed down to a man standing on on a trotting horse in what was admittedly an atrocious purple outfit? To back muscles that _rippled_ every time he raised his bow and took aim and arms that drew his eyes like magnets, and a grin so beautiful it made his heart do a painful hop in his chest.

“Sam!”

He was jarred out of his daydream by his cousin tugging on his jacket with an annoyed expression on his face, “We’re gonna go get some cotton candy, you coming with?”

Another performer was throwing apples into the air at different heights for the man on the horse to shoot, and though the animal never stopped moving the apples were still sliced dead center. The arrows landed safely in a haystack, and the gathered crowd whistled and hollered for more even as the man’s giddy smile suddenly turned sheepish now that he wasn’t shooting, a thing that only made him cuter—

 _Oh shit_

“Naw, I’ve had too much sugar, I’ll meet up with you after this,” he replied finally, obviously distracted and hiding it terribly. 

It wasn’t that the archer was the first boy that he had ever found attractive, but never quite like this. Actually, he had never felt this degree of nervous excitement around anyone before. There were children crowding around who wanted to touch the bow and arrows or the horse. Any shyness he had seemed to disappear in the face of the children; he beamed at them and his grin was infectious—the corners of Sam’s mouth pulling up with a warm, bubbly feeling in his gut.

The man twirled the bow behind his back and back around in a fluid movement to a chorus of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ with the ease of an idle habit instead of a refined performance, as if this was as natural to him as walking. 

Sam didn’t intend to step closer, but it was hard to resist the man’s blue eyes when they crinkled with his smiles. 

Nor did he intend to stay outside and watch the act once it started back up in earnest, even as the crowd began to wane with the intensity of the early afternoon sun. 

He _definitely_ didn’t plan on getting caught gawking at the archer’s back as he performed various feats, but of course he did, because Sam Wilson always had the worst luck.

It turned out that was alright though, because Sam’s (probably embarrassingly) adoring expression earned him a growing number of elated smiles accompanied by some obvious but still endearing showing off.

The nervous butterflies turned to giddy heart racing in his chest when the archer took a break to grab a bottle of water and smile at Sam again, suddenly more shy and awkward than before, an expression that somehow just made him more charming, much to Sam’s dismay.

“Hi, I’m Clint Barton.” He scratched the back of his head with the hand holding his water bottle while holding his other hand out to Sam to shake, a movement that emphasized the muscles in his arms and shoulders unintentionally.

So it was excusable that Sam was left dry mouthed before taking _Clint’s_ hand, “Sam Wilson.”

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to go out for burgers after we shut down for the night.”

It was no exaggeration to say that Sam’s face hurt from the smile that took over his face, “Yeah, definitely!”

It was perhaps a stretch to say Clint was Sam’s first love. Clint wasn’t his first date, or his first kiss, and they only had a single weekend together. But no one before had made him feel like Clint had, just by existing, beyond the way his heart skipped when Clint smiled at him. There was no awkwardness in their conversation, words and casual touches in a diner booth flowed easily. Best of all, when Sam watched Clint speak, when he watched his eyes, he knew Clint only spoke truths, even if some of them were ugly.

When he officially came out to his family three years later, his mother pointed out the picture from the mall photo booth in his desk he thought was secret and told him she would never cast him out for someone making him so happy, and neither would God.

_The One Who Saved Him_

Witness reports vary on what Sam Wilson said when he regained consciousness the first time he crashed when testing the EXO-FALCON rig. Popular consensus is that it was something along the lines of, _”Am I in heaven?”_ , but it’s a little hard to understand his friends when they tell the story while holding their sides in laughter.

Bastards.

It’s not his fault the first person he saw while he was doped up on morphine was apparently an ethereally gorgeous doctor, who he had yet to see now that he was a little more himself. It didn’t stop his fellow soldiers (some buddies they were) from mocking him when he could hardly move in the damn hospital bed and his only defense was throwing whatever he could reach at them.

One of the nurses assured him that Dr. Cho had been hit on every day since she came to base and his attempt was by far the most charming. She patted him fondly on the arm after checking his IV, crediting his expression to personal embarrassment rather than a sudden shame at the actions of the rest of the men on base.

The next time he came to, it was to the sound of a clipboard clattering on the floor. Manners and gentlemanly tendencies that were drilled into him from birth had him lurching up out of bed to help whoever it was, even with the IV sticking out of his arm. The sight of the tile floor with his fingers reaching for the noisy thing was almost immediately followed by a sharp pain in his head and a feminine sound of pain so close to his skull where a headache was rapidly blossoming.

“Ow.” He groaned, heaving himself back onto his bed and rubbing at his face, “Sorry.” Sam’s skull was still throbbing, the bright hospital lights not helping the matter at all.

Laughter was his response, a soft sound that set his heart fluttering dangerously before he even opened up his eyes. He froze for a moment even as she spoke, “You’re fine, it was still a nice gesture.” She sounded amused, but not in a mocking way or a make-fun-of-him-when-he’s-asleep way, which was better than most would have been after that.

Sam opened up his eyes finally and saw the beauti—no, _lovely_ woman beside his bed and heard the beeping of the heart monitor on his finger suddenly speed up.

_Not again._

It had been a few years since Clint, but Sam knew his own heart, and he always knew right away when someone was going to walk off with it. It was both a gift and a curse, because he could never convince himself to turn around when he probably should. He had the self-preservation instincts of a rodeo clown, apparently.

The woman smiled at him as if she knew exactly what was going through his head. “You must be Dr. Cho? I heard I have you to thank for saving me.” There. That was definitely professional and respectful, instead of gawking or gushing with compliments at how young she looked and how impressive it was for her to be doing what she did.

Dr. Cho started checking his vitals as she nodded, giving him another amused smile as she notated his heart rate. “Yes, we angels have a habit of that.” Her voice was quiet, but her movements were sure and confident even while Sam’s were not, and he let out another groan of embarrassment, wishing for a pillow to cover his face.

Another laugh, and the beeps picked back up in a perfect reaction to the sound. Dr. Cho had a beautiful laugh, and a grin that transformed her face even when it was at his expense. She tapped her pen on his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard a lot worse, and you’ve been a fine patient. We’ll have you in here for a bit longer though, I’m afraid. You had a hard crash.”

“Really?” Sam perked up, and her eyes narrowed, as if she were debating whether he wanted to get out of working or something else.

Little did she know that it was definitely the _something else_ which happened to be wondering what he would have to do to get a belly laugh out of her.

 

Senior Airman Sam Wilson stayed in the hospital for four more weeks total, and saw Dr. Cho twice a day on normal days, once when things were extra chaotic. At the end of the first week she had wised up to his goal of making her laugh, but instead of admonishing him or rolling her eyes she gave him a smile and wished him the best of luck in his ventures.

The Monday after that, instead of walking away after his morning check in, she pulled a chair next to his bed while he ate eggs he was pretty sure were microwaved and talked about growing up in Harlem.  
“Wait, why is your grandmother called—” She hesitated as if nervous to say the strange word she was about to attempt, “ _Ammaw_? You call your other grandmother Granny, so why two different titles?”

The thought of ‘granny’ being a title was so hilarious that for a moment he missed the fact of how closely she was actually paying attention to his rambling to have caught that. It made him grin and the beeping increase for the hundredth time all at once, “Granny wasn’t around when we were real little, but Ammaw was. My brother Caleb couldn’t say Grandma so he called her Ammaw and it just stuck.” 

She giggled, tilting her head down with the gesture as if trying to hide her expression, “That’s adorable, actually.”

Sam beamed with pride at the sort-of compliment even though it wasn’t even really directed at him. “Yeah, mom says that’s when we had souls.”

Dr. Cho’s expression changed, eyes widening in surprise and mouth falling open slight before snapping shut. “That’s terrible!”

For someone whose humor tended to be on the subtle and dry side, Dr. Cho always had him feeling light, relaxed and quick to laugh, like he was. He stopped himself in case it seemed like he was laughing at her. “Naw, she means it fondly. We think.” He winked at her and her expression changed back to the one of fond amusement that had become her default around him, which was better than the one of polite neutrality she showed most of the others.

“So what do you call your grandma?” Dr. Cho never talked about her family, or her life before the present. It was simply a fact everyone knew, like how Mast. Sergeant Rugamba’s coffee thermos had more than just coffee, or Nurse Sproul could literally find a vein in the dark with her eyes closed.

But it still never hurt to ask, as long as he was tactful, or so his Granny taught him.

She gave him a considering look and he felt like he was being measured up for something—though he didn’t know what—before she answered him, “ _Halmonee_ , usually. For both of them.”

Sam tried the word, rolling the unfamiliar sounds around in his head before saying it out loud, “Halimony?”

Any fears he had about offending her dissipated when she giggled, this time definitely hiding her face behind her ever-present clipboard. “Not quite, but good try.”

His expression twisted in frustration. “Don’t worry, I’m stubborn. Teach me.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to grasp that. Now, say it slowly.” Her smile was the same, and there was nothing different about her expression, but there was something in her voice that seemed to let more shine through than he had heard before.

That Friday he saw her after dinner for the first time. She brought him a book on American History with a focus on the Jazz era, and herself what appeared to be a Korean medical textbook.

“This is awesome! Thank you!” But there were stress lines on her face and her hands seemed to tremble when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“Dr. Cho, are you alright?” 

She was silent when she took her now-usual chair, put her coat neatly around the back of it, and sat down. Her book remained closed but she stared at the cover so intently he wondered if it had somehow personally insulted her.

He waited, because Sam was a stubborn but patient man, and finally she responded, “I think you can call me Helen, Senior Airman Wilson. Especially this late at night.”

The fluttering in his chest seemed to change to a comforting warmth with that, even though he was still worried about the way her movements seemed a little less sure and her shoulders so much more tense than usual. “Then I think you should call me Sam, don’t you, Helen?”

She finally looked up, a tired but true smile pulling at her features. “I think I will have trouble sleeping tonight. Do you mind if we read together for a bit?”

Sam didn’t hesitate to reach out to her. In fact, if he were being honest it had been hard to refrain from doing that previously. He came from a very affectionate family, touch in times of worry and comfort had transcended habit to become more of an instinct. He rested his hand on top of hers where they rested on her book, but only for a moment. “Of course.”

So that’s how he knew when Helen had a bad day during that hospital stay. When she was afraid of the dreams she would have, or didn’t want to lie in bed for hours thinking of people she couldn’t save instead of sleeping, she would sit at his bed side and they would read until her eyes were drooping with weariness.

The belly laugh, or the closest Helen was probably capable of, finally came three days before he was released during a skype call with his family. It figured that he spent weeks trying to get her to drop her composure and let loose with the kind of laugh that left her breathless, and it took listening to his family give him shit for everything from a supposedly crooked fade to his new scars.

Lovingly. Supposedly. 

You could ask his mother: Sam Wilson has always been a very good correspondent. So when Helen’s expertise was needed in another country, he wrote or skyped her every chance he got. When he was deployed to finally do what he was been training to do: saving people and nearly dying, he checked in with her often to let her know he was still alive.

As sure as he was that he would love her forever, he was sure she loved him just as ardently.

But Helen was needed everywhere, it seemed. That’s just how life was when you were a specialist in a field like hers. Helen could learn just about anything medical and then improve upon it, so it was no surprise that one day she was in Japan assisting with an experiment, and back in Korea a week later working on her own personal projects.

It was no one’s fault when they officially broke up, especially when they had been drifting for a year.. Sam wanted to stay within the US, he had a big family he wanted to be near and new nieces to dote on. He loved to travel but home would always be just that, home.

It was no one’s fault.

Helen was ambitious and determined, and he loved those qualities in her and would never hold her back. But it was hard sometimes for him, to feel alone even when he wasn’t, he had her... but he didn’t. She was in a time zone with a 8 hour difference when he woke up screaming.

He loved her, and she loved him, and it was no one’s fault.

 

_The One That Stayed_

  


Sam Wilson. Pararescue. Purple heart recipient. Ace poker player. College student at 32. Barista.

Not exactly the life he had expected to be leading, honestly. He had saved lives! He survived being in a tank when it hit an IED! He got lost in Shanghai for three days and somehow didn’t get in trouble with his CO or marked AWOL! He successfully stole bacon from his granny’s cast iron skillet without being hit with a hot spatula!

Why was he playing out the cliche of a college student serving coffee again? Especially with a busy body like Mary Jane Watson?

“...So anyway. That’s why I’m going to be single on Valentine’s Day. I tend to fall hard and fast so I’m really hoping to avoid it.”

The girl who had to be ten years his junior at least sounded every bit of it when she sighed dreamily as she started half heartedly wriping down the counter, “But that’s so sweet antic! Do you still talk to either of them?” He wanted to tease her for being such a hopeless romantic but he was also pretty sure she would call him out for being a hypocrite after hearing him go on and on about Clint and Helen.

“Yeah, we talk as much as we can. They’re both doing good... I saw Clint a few months ago with his current girlfriend for his birthday. See?” He pulled out his phone to swipe through his pictures before showing MJ the one with him, Darcy, and Clint at a karaoke bar downtown.

“Oh! They are a good looking pair!” Sam agreed with her, long past any sort of jealousy for Clint, though a part of him would always belong to the other man.

He took his phone back before the girl could take it as permission to go exploring, “Helen is looking to adopt, she got married last year to a ballerina, believe it or not.” Sam hadn’t seen Natasha and Helen since Christmas time when they visited New York and watched the ball drop, but they were glowing with adoration for each other. He was just happy Helen was happy, no matter who she was with, and the word _godfather_ was being tossed around. Besides, Natasha seemed like a wonderful woman, protective and attentive to her wife while also having enough snark to keep everyone in check.

The picture he showed MJ had all three of them with New Year’s hats, Natasha laying a ruby red kiss on a blushing Helen’s cheek.

“Oh, I want a love like that.” MJ sighed again, as if forgetting the boyfriend who doted on her in his own haphazard, awkward way. “Well, third time's the charm, maybe?” She asked him, hope in her voice even as she jabbed a teasing elbow into his side.

But Sam shook his head. “My family believes in a different rule of three, the third in a series is always bigger than the other two. So my next love is either going to be either earth shatteringly devastating or...”

“It’s going to be devastatingly happy!” Oh to be young and optimistic.

The Monday after that was the thirteenth. They already had heart shaped cookies and pink ribbons across the display case. There were red and pink streamers hanging from the ceiling tiles and roses on the tables. Truthfully, he thought Cindy and Gwen went a little overboard and were also using decorating as some weird flirting method, but no one bothered to ask him for his opinion, and though he sometimes put on a cynical face Sam was always the first to root for young love.

Beside him at the counter, MJ yawned. The Air Force trained him so that 7 AM was never too early, but for her, even after taking a shot of espresso, it was still a bit too much. He wasn’t sure who she pissed off to keep getting the opening shift with him, but he he was hoping she would get used to it sooner rather than later.

At the front door they saw a toddler waddle up to the glass who couldn’t have been older than three, and Sam saw MJ start to perk up beside him, finally. The boy pushed on the glass with grubby hands and a face twisted in concentration until a woman stepped up behind him with hair that might have once been a pixie cut but was now a chaotic mess. She wore a bright yellow leather jacket and blue jeans. The sunglasses on her face were a solid, opaque pink, and when she pushed open the door for the toddler to happily sprint inside, she shoved the glasses unceremoniously on top of her head and grinned at them apologetically. “Sorry about the handprints, he thinks because he can open up my bedroom door he should be able to open up all of them—Shogo! Hands off the glass!”

Older than MJ but probably younger than him, the woman already had him feeling too much like he was an awkward teenager about to accidentally talk to one of the popular girls.

MJ was cooing at the boy, who was possibly trying to crawl through the display glass to get to the pastries, but Sam was too busy staring at the woman. She was far too cute, too vibrant and so _alive_ , colorful and even with the obvious weariness lurking in her eyes, she chastised her son with fondness and care in her voice instead of anger, and smiled at them like they mattered. Like they weren’t strangers.

Sam cleared his throat past the pounding of his heart and tried to stamp down the butterflies already building in his gut. “Good morning, What’s the name for your order?”

She gave him another far-too-awake grin as she picked up the toddler so MJ could properly distract him from leaving more handprints everywhere. “Oh! Jubilee! Nice to meetcha...” she said, and gave a bit of a grunt as she adjusted the squirming boy in her arms, “...Sam!”

He waited a bit too long to respond, because she was giving him a mischievous smile, and for a split second he forgot he was wearing an apron with a stitched nametag, and his mind was sent spiraling. Had they met before? Surely not! Surely he would remember the way her eyes lit up and the way she walked, certainly the way she dressed—oh. Right. The apron.

Now he felt like an idiot, but it was worth it to hear her say his name.

Next to him, MJ squealed. He hoped, for his dignity’s sake, that it was at the kid, but it was probably at him and the look on his face. Damnit.

Jubilee’s eyes examined the menu while darting back to Shogo and MJ with the ease of someone used to having to be in two places at once, arms showing no sign of tiring as she held up her son while MJ tried to play patty cake with him. Finally she opened her mouth to order and Sam had to scramble to grab a sharpie out of his pocket; he had been so busy watching her he almost wasn’t ready. “I’ll have a large caramel frappe with two shots of espresso and he’ll have two of those mango Frooti boxes, please.”

The motions of tapping out her order on the register and grabbing the correct cup was muscle memory at least, he could hardly embarrass himself with that. “And will you be staying?” _Will you be taking this to go_ was his normal question, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he changed it even as he said the words.

Jubilee didn’t seem to notice anything was off though, perhaps because she was too focused on adjusting Shogo on her hip as MJ started making her drink. One hand was wrapped around the still squirming boy as the other dug into her back pocket. She pulled an old leather bound wallet out and handed him a twenty with one deft hand. “Yeah, scenery is worth the sit-down, I think.”

A few of the coins he had been counting out dropped from his hands with a clatter back into the drawer and on the floor at the comment. He looked up at her because _surely_ she hadn’t meant that like he thought she—

Oh. She _definitely_ meant that the way he wanted her to, if the smirk that crinkled her eyes and lit up her face had anything to say about it. “Uh, 12.76 is your...” Sam ducked down to pick up her pennies off the floor, and felt his cheeks heat up even more when he stood back up to see she had been watching him unabashedly. 

“Change?” she asked, with her hand held out and barely contained laughter in her voice. “Thanks, Sam.” It wasn’t strictly necessary for their hands to touch when he gave her the money, but in his defense, she started it. Besides, her fingers—rough and calloused at the tips in a way that made him curious—dragged against his in a way that gave him goosebumps, so it was hard to chastise himself for it. Jubilee stuffed the bills back in her wallet with ease and shoved the change in her pocket, shooting him one last grin and wink before heading to a nearby table.

He was jarred out of his reverie by MJ suddenly appearing beside him. “You owe me a dollar for not chiming in like the grandma from Mulan by the way.” She slid the drink in front of him. “You should totally go ask her on a date. Or at least for her number.”

Sam’s jaw dropped even as he considered it, so he took step away from the counter to grab a still warm apple fritter from the glass case as an excuse to delay responding. “Don’t you think that’s a little fast? Plus then I’d be one of those creepy customer service people who hits on customers.”

MJ nodded approvingly at the pastry in his hand. “Yeah, but she was obviously interested, just be very low key and no pressure about it. Give her your number instead of asking for hers.” 

He grabbed a couple napkins and a fork but hesitated as he grabbed Jubilee’s drink. “I’m sure she’s extra careful with strangers around her son though, my cousin is a single parent and she’s very cautious before dating. Safety and emotional attachment-wise both”

“How do you know he’s her son and not a nephew or cousin she’s babysitting?” The question was laced with genuine curiosity, not skepticism, as she had learned a long time ago to respect his intuition with people.

Observant eyes darted over to their table, where Jubilee sat playing a game with Shogo where she would bounce him on her knee before straightening out her leg so he slid down it, squealing all the while. It was pure love and adoration coming from both of them, and it made warmth bubble up in his chest, “Just trust me, that’s her kid, I can see it.”

It wasn’t that there was a physical resemblance, because there really wasn’t much of one beyond hair color and clearly being from the same general region of the earth (which was a drastic over simplification of a dozen vastly different cultures of course). But he could read her face in how she looked at him, just like he could tell she was physically exhausted, probably why she kept moving and fidgeting. 

It was in the way her eyes sometimes furiously blinked and the way she straightened her shoulders to stop from slouching in weariness. He saw himself again in the callouses on her fingers and the way she walked, the way she sat so she could watch the door and the well worn boots on her feet, the way she took a deep breath and seemed to let it show for a beat when she thought no one was looking before grinning at Shogo. Beyond observation built from years of training and studying to _recognition_.

It was a new feeling, a thing he hadn’t felt with Clint or Helen, and it was both disconcerting and exciting.

Beside him MJ nodded at his observation as she tapped out a quick pattern on the counter and for a moment he thought she gave up before she snapped her fingers. “Hey, Central Park Zoo is having a thing for couples this weekend. Cindy, Peter, me and Gwen are going. Why don’t you invite her and Shogo? I bet he’d love it, and we can help watch him sometimes so you guys can talk!” She reached into the mini fridge below the counter and tucked the two box drinks in the crook of his arm as she spoke, earning her a displeased hiss at the coldness against his skin.

The idea wasn’t bad, but he was still nervous. He knew how this usually ended up, knew himself well enough that he never _partially_ gave himself to someone.

But there were hands pushing at his back towards the table where Jubilee sat with her son balanced on her knee. “Go on. You said you could always tell when someone was about to walk off with your heart, so the least you can do is walk with them. Yes, that is partially a metaphor.”

Maybe MJ was right, and he should be bold instead of being overly cautious because of old heart break and superstition. After all he just met this woman, maybe they were both blowing this out of proportion. 

Even that grounding thought didn’t, didn’t stop him from feeling seventeen again as he approached their table. No way these sorts of things happened to _actual_ adults. “Sorry about the wait, here are you drinks and an apple fritter, on the house.”

Luckily for both of them Shogo was too young to notice the blush in his mother’s cheeks, but Sam _certainly_ did, and it made that rush of butterflies that had dissipated with MJ’s pushing come back in a pleased rush. “Oh, thanks a lot, it looks yummy! Do you want to sit down?” 

A boot kicked out to push away one of the chairs across from her, and Sam glanced back at MJ, who grinned at him while giving two thumbs up before he sat down. For a few minutes they sat in silence, and he watched her punch the straw into the box and hold it out for Shogo to take happily, though she whisked it away before he could inhale the whole thing.

It was comfortable though, and Sam felt a surprising sort of relaxation seep into him that he rarely felt at work, especially this early. Sam could talk all day, but finding someone he could be silent around without worry about judgement or what he should be doing seemed to gradually sap the stress from his mind. He knew Jubilee was one of those people, even if he couldn’t pinpoint how he knew it.

He didn’t even jump when he felt her ankle rest against his, only gave her a giddy grin in response to the tentative smile that seemed to transform her features, slow and sweet as if she were asking for permission. 

Boundaries and lines.

Made him wonder if he gave off the air of someone who welcomed physical contact, but couldn’t always handle it. 

Maybe she was used to people like that.

Or he was (probably) over thinking it. But her shy smile tinged with relief made up for it.

She kept it there even as she tore up the pastry into smaller bits to feed both herself and her son, and he chose that moment to speak, now somehow much less nervous than he had been, “A couple of us are going to the zoo this weekend, I was wondering if you guys wanted to come? I can give you my number, so we aren’t strangers by then.”

He leaned towards her with a shiteating grin as if he was going to share a secret, but spoke loud enough for MJ (who was definitely not staring at them while wiping down the same spot over and over again) to hear, “We can throw peanuts at the lovesick teenagers together and lord our youthful good looks over them.”

“Excuse you! I am 24!”

A balled up straw wrapper hit him in the side of the head. “Way to make your point, MJ!”

The exchange seemed to distract Jubilee from Sam’s invitation, and she tilted her head back as she gave a belly laugh at their antics before what he had asked her seemed to catch up, or rather, it caught up to her son first.

“Zoo! Zoo!” He tugged at her jacket with small but persistent hands until she focused on him, and Sam could see the moment she remembered the question.

It seemed to break her out of her frozen state. “Shh, Shogo, we’ll see,” She gave him another sip of his drink to distract him. “To be honest, usually it’s safe for me to flirt with pretty people like yourself when he’s around because he’s like a keep away sign, like that’s all they can see, so I’m a little surprised you asked.” It was to the point and surprisingly honest, but that was a quality Sam could appreciate and it somehow made him more confident.

One a different day, with a different person, he might’ve taken that as a sign to leave, that his attentions weren’t wanted that she only flirted _because_ it was safe, but her head was tilted to the side and she watched him like she was trying to figure him out. There was a resigned and tired vein to her voice like his own when he talked about the nightmares he still got, and it spurred him on. 

“I don’t know how anyone couldn’t see you. Like missing a firework show.” There was that Wilson charm and handsome smile! Hopefully at least, and it seemed to be working, because she seemed to relax more and grinned at him anew. “Although granted, he is pretty cute, I can definitely see where he gets it.”

Jubilee was the one who was blushing, but Sam’s heart was pounding away in his chest at her expression; mouth open in surprise, cheeks flush with the sincere compliment and a smile slowly tugging at her lips. “He’s adopted actually, but you’re off to a good start, Sam.”

One of her hands dug into her pocket even as she hid her face in Shogo’s hair while he reached for the pastry again with tiny, eager hands. “Here you go, let me get your digits before you come to your senses.”

There was no passcode on her phone, and both her lock screen and background resembled his own: happy group pictures with her and who he assumed were friends and family. “You know what, I think I finally did, actually.” Sam grinned at her for what felt like the hundredth time, heart still hammering away in his chest with excitement but without nervousness. When he looked into her eyes, he saw his own giddiness reflected in her face, it felt good to be on equal footing--

Oh.

With Clint he had been captivated by his skill, his strength and yes--beauty. Sam had wanted to be near him, have the Archer’s attention on him, even then he had known somehow that Clint was carrying more than he would let on. His family had always said he had a good sense for people who were suffering, and maybe subconsciously he had been hoping Clint would lean on him, even years later when they became true friends.

Helen, clever, entrancing and always a little out of reach. Though they dated and were undoubtedly in love, they were always heading in different directions. Helen was passionate, but not in the same heart-on-the-sleeve way that Sam was, she spoke from her heart but was better at letting her impressive intellect stop her from being brash in the heat of the moment than he was. He loved her, always would, but Natasha was more her temperature.

 

Sam knew he was falling fast, and expected to fall hard. But he was no longer hoping to avoid it. The third time was always the most intense, but that wasn’t giving him any sense of panic this time, he finally felt like he could be walking down the same path, no holds barred. It was early, and maybe he was just being optimistic and starry eyed (probably) but…

While he saved his number in her phone out of the corners of his eyes he saw her fingers slowly slide the pastry dish towards him so it was halfway between, ideal for sharing. It felt like an auspicious beginning.


End file.
